


Though Who Knows When That Later Might Be?

by kastron (decidueye)



Category: Elementary
Genre: AU: Supernatural!Hunters, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/pseuds/kastron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months was a long time to be doing something Joan had never asked to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though Who Knows When That Later Might Be?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyknightanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/gifts).



“Six months.”

“Hm?” Sherlock didn’t look up from the dusty text he was peering over, and Joan crossed her legs, resting on her palms as she leant back on the motel bed.

“I’ve been on the road with you for exactly six months today.”

“Ah.” Joan levelled Sherlock’s profile with a glare, and it must have had some effect, as he rested his hands on the book before meeting her gaze, the corner of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smile. “I hadn’t been keeping track; Congratulations! Or should I say Happy Anniversary? Such a shame I didn’t buy flowers, but we could always try and locate an adequate diner in which to celebrate, should you like. I could even buy you a new hunting knife…”

“You’re missing the point.” Joan frowned, and Sherlock’s expression didn’t change but she could feel the poorly veiled amusement at her exasperation radiating from him – a sure sign that they had been spending too much time together. He pursed his lips for a moment, smothering his laugh.

“Oh? And what is the point, exactly?” Joan rolled her eyes.

“Six months ago,” she began, speaking slowly and ignoring the slight twitch in Sherlock’s jaw, “you told me that you were going to drive me to my cousin’s house in New Jersey. You promised me that you’d ‘escort’ me out of harm’s way and I’d never have to think about demons, and – and ghosts, ever again. Instead, I’ve stayed in twenty four motel rooms and I’ve learned far more about wielding a machete than I ever wanted to know.”

“Gained a better eye for detail, too,” Sherlock noted, and there was no hiding the humor in his tone, now. “I’m still doing all of those things, you know. We haven’t reached New Jersey yet, and teaching you these skills is only going to help you in the long term.”

“We’ve been to Alaska,” Joan pointed out, and Sherlock simply shrugged, turning his attention back to the text in front of him. Joan smiled with all of the fake sincerity she could muster, “But I can see why New Jersey might be a bit of a stretch for you.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Sherlock retorted, distracted, “It would be so…ugh, <i>boring</i> there.” Joan merely raised an eyebrow, confident that he knew what she was doing in spite of his attention being elsewhere, and they paused for a while, both radiating stubbornness. The stand-off was only broken when Sherlock slammed the book shut, tucking it under his arm as he leapt for the door.

He was half way down the corridor, Joan staring at him from the doorway before he stopped, spinning on his heels and regarding her with an expression of intense impatience.

“Aren’t you coming, Watson?” He called, “I think I may have found our shapeshifter.”

***

Joan crouched to examine the mess in front of her. Discarded skin mixed with sewage and as she reached into the pile of waste, the splash echoed around the tunnel walls. It was difficult to pull Sherlock’s head free of the substance clinging to it, but she did so. She wiped the dirt from his cheeks and turned the head to meet his lifeless gaze.

Joan had long since stopped gagging at the sight of corpses; this time she couldn’t quite stop the bile from rising in her throat.

“Not quite <i>True Blood</i>, then.” She murmured – a defence mechanism – and then she knew that she had been spending too much time with him. Sarcasm seemed to be the sort of annoying trait which rubbed off on you.

“Sadly not.” Sherlock’s dry tone came from a few feet behind Joan, and she jumped. “It seems that ‘real’ supernatural creatures continue to disappoint the media’s expectations of an enriched sex life and attractive puppy dogs. Although…” The hunter took a few steps towards the body of the shapeshifter, kicking his own head and making Joan shudder. “He hasn’t done too badly, this time.”

His grin, were it on anyone else, would have been shit-eating. As it was, he just met Joan’s gaze with a wide stare and the quirk of an eyebrow, mouth a slightly uplifted version of neutral.

“Where were you?” Joan stood, turning to face Sherlock, crossing her arms. She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was far from understanding and Sherlock actually had the decency to look sheepish. He forced his hands into his pockets, and his gaze slid back to the shapeshifter’s body.

“Delicate workmanship.” He commented. “A good, clean cut. My first wasn’t quite that smooth. I suppose it’s the side effect of being a surgeon. Former surgeon.” Any other day, Joan might have stopped to be impressed that Sherlock had admitted that she could do something better than him – even if it was past-him – but his tactics were clearly evasive and she wasn’t going to let this go.

“Where were you.” She repeated, not a question this time. Sherlock sighed, looking for all the world like a petulant child. His toe scuffed briefly against the floor, making a nauseating suction sound, and Joan was reminded of when her brother was asked to let her into his ‘secret fort’. That was a long time ago – a lifetime ago, it felt like.

“I was…compromised.” He said, and Joan waited for more. Sherlock took a breath. “There was someone with whom I did not want to have contact, and they were in proximity. You won’t be getting any more from me, so I hope you’re satisfied with that.” He spun on his heel, marching down the edge of the tunnel without waiting for Joan to follow; only Sherlock could make a tantrum so poisonous. Joan watched him go, taking in his hunched posture and the way his back muscles were riddled with obvious tension.

(<i> _”Always pay attention to detail, Dr. Watson. It’s the most important observations which keep you alive when hunting.” Sherlock told her as they drove, still stinking of the ash from her mother’s burning grave. Joan blinked, confused._

_“But I’m not going to be hunting.” She replied, and even shaken her voice remained firm. Maybe that was why Sherlock had decided to ‘keep’ her. Sherlock hesitated, keeping his gaze on the road._

_“Well, it’s an effective way to approach life in general, don’t you think?” His tone was nonchalant, “Paying attention to detail makes it much less difficult for you to be surprised.”_ )

Sherlock’s philosophies had made it far easier to read the eccentric hunter’s apparently dismissive actions. Joan’s expression softened; they would talk about it later (though who knew when that later might be).

***

It was when they were packing their things, loading bags of weaponry into Sherlock’s ’67 Impala (<i>” _All hunters have classic cars, Joan. There are some rules even I’m inclined to follow.” </i>_ Joan strongly suspected that this rule in particular was made up), that Sherlock finally asked the question which had obviously been bothering him since the sewers.

“How did you know it wasn’t me?” The words were quick and murmured softly, absently, but Joan caught them.

“What wasn’t you?”

“The shapeshifter.” Joan knew what he meant, and Sherlock knew Joan knew what he meant, and he frowned impatiently. Joan paused, mulling the answer over in her head.

“Maybe I didn’t.” She settled with, slamming the trunk closed and climbing into the driver’s seat before Sherlock could have any time to protest.

Sherlock wasn’t the only one who could be an evasive bastard. And besides, they would always be ready to talk about it later.

                                                            

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for ladyknightanka, who asked for the AU. I have to say that I had far too many ideas for this prompt – it could be a ‘verse all of its own! So I thought I would just give you a snippet of what I imagine their lives might be like. Happy Holidays~!


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